


heartaches

by ledtherevolution



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Brendon Urie - Freeform, Dallon Weekes - Freeform, Fighting, Fluff, Hiking, Hospitalization, Illness, M/M, Nursing, Trails, Utah - Freeform, anemia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9534299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledtherevolution/pseuds/ledtherevolution
Summary: AU where Brendon is anemic, Dallon is a nurse.





	

Trails were one of Dallon’s favorite stress relievers. After the week he'd had, he deserved one. Usually, he went alone on off-days before Brendon got up. This morning, however, Brendon resolved to go with him and couldn't be coaxed back to sleep. It's not that he didn't want him to come along. Dallon liked to move at his own pace.

“You’re not stopping now, are you? We’re not even halfway there.” Dallon pauses and half-turns to face him. Brendon’s head is bent against his chest, one arm twisted up over his head to brace himself against an oak tree. His chest is heaving, his breath puffing out rapidly. Brendon drops his arm to hold himself up on his knees.

“Just- just taking a break,” he pants. Dallon doubles back, extending a hand to help him. Brendon looks up though his eyebrows and smiles, grasping his hand.

“Jesus, your hands are freezing,” Dallon takes the backpack off and shrugs off his outer coat; throwing it around Brendon’s shoulders. He helps him work his arms through the sleeves.

“Now won’t you be cold?” He asks, his shaking arms folded tightly over his stomach.

“Nah,” He shakes his head, “a sweater is good enough. Besides,” he lifts up the hem, “I have another shirt on under it.” He smiles again before hopping over a log to the other end of the trail. Brendon scrambles up the side of the fallen tree before sliding down slowly. He huffs as he lands on all fours, hands stilling in the white dirt. Dallon stops a few feet away, head cocked to one side.

“Brendon?” He asks, watching him stagger to his feet. Brendon rubs his palms together to get the sand off and follows Dallon further into the woods.

Dallon hovers a few feet ahead of him, halting every few steps to make sure Brendon was still with him. The end of the trail is in sight, the parking lot tucked neatly in beside the ranger station.

Brendon’s feet stumble over one another, his head spinning. His eyes can’t focus on a singular point, but loll around from one blurry thing to the next. His knees buckle, vision going glassy before fading to grey.

Dallon hears the fall before he realizes it’s Brendon, his attention shifting from the sight of their car to his now-absent partner.

“Brendon, what are you doing?” He nudges Brendon’s shoulder. Brendon’s closed eyes don’t flutter. Panic grips his throat as he kneels next to him, shifting his head to his lap. He undoes his watch and reorients it so the face is on the inside of his wrist and takes Brendon’s pulse, much like what he does when he’s on his shift. He pulls the hot water thermos from the inside of the bag, tossing the ginger and lemon from the diffuser into the plastic bag. He unscrews the cap of the travel sized rubbing alcohol and coats the tips of two fingers to hold under Brendon’s nose.

Brendon’s face contorts and he blinks dazedly into the sky.

“There you are,” Dallon says with a worried smile. Brendon’s heartbeat is weak, rapid. “We’re going to the clinic, okay?”

Brendon’s eyes go wide, shaking his head.

“No, Dal- please, don’t, you know I hate it!” He says, voice hoarse and breathy.

“Brendon, we’re going. I’m a nurse, you think I don’t know when you need help? I can’t exactly find a defibrillator in the middle of the woods, you know.” Dallon packs everything back into the bag, Brendon still staring blearily into the tree limbs overhead. Brendon holds himself up on his arms as Dallon stands, yelping in surprise when he bends to pick Brendon up.

For Dallon, this is the easiest thing in the world. He’s trained for instances such as this and regularly deals with unfortunate circumstances. Brendon, on the other hand, is not. His hands are shaking as Dallon sets him down in the passenger seat. He buckles him in and strokes his hair back.

“Hey, look at me,” his eyes drift over Dallon’s face, his lip crushed between his teeth. “You’re going to be fine, this happens all the time.” Dallon offers a smile, which he returns with an anxious twist of his brow. Dallon calls Amanda as soon as they’re out of the parking lot.

“Dallon?” She asks, “Where have you been? You were supposed to be here-”

“Mandy, I took today off, remember? Anyway, I’m on the way. Brendon had a little bit of an episode-” he looks back at Brendon. “I’m not quite sure what’s going on but I’ll be there in a few. Could you meet me out front with a wheelchair?”

“Dallon, the things I do for you. Yes, I’ll be there.” She hangs up.

Brendon mumbles something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Dallon leans toward him, eyes still on the road.

“Anemia,” he sighs, his eyes squinted closed.

“You’re _anemic_?” He asks, disbelief sending his voice into the next octave.

“Yes,” he says tiredly.

“And you didn’t think to _tell me about that?_ We shouldn’t have gone hiking then, you know that exercise affects you more than-”

“This is why I didn’t say anything, you’ll treat me differently now-”

 

“Because I’ll actually take care of you?” Dallon parks a little more vigorously than necessary and pulls Brendon out of the car. “Now I’m feeling the urgency.”

Amanda already had a room ready, bless her. Dallon takes his blood pressure before pricking his finger. The blood flowers a bright, watery red. Dallon rushes to the blood bank, fishing out two pouches of B+ and a fresh set of IVs. He collects an oxygen mask and rolls a canister behind him. Brendon’s pallid face sits snugly on a pile of linen-scented pillows. Amanda already changed him into a hospital gown. Dallon hurries to hang the pouches of blood while Amanda plugs in the oxygen mask.

“Dal, what’s going on?” Brendon asks, hand tightening in Dallon’s shirt.

“You need a blood transfusion,” Dallon says, tightening a rubber cuff around Brendon’s forearm. He attaches the needle part to the end of the tube, ripping off a piece of tape from the tabletop dispenser. Brendon breathes heavily through his nose, head turning away from the end of the needle. He scrunches up his nose, eyes watering at the unfamiliar feeling. Dallon tapes it down and wipes away a tear caught in his lashes. He carefully lifts Brendon’s head and pulls the oxygen mask down over his nose. He kisses his forehead before squeezing his hand.

“Dallon?” Brendon’s voice is muffled. Dallon hums. “Will you stay?”

“Of course,” he whispers. “Always.”

_____________

Dallon drops the box of tea, skidding across the kitchen floor in his socks. He takes the stairs two at a time, shouting Brendon’s name. He pushes his way through their bedroom to the master bath.

“Brendon?” He asks, pressing his ear to the door.

He jiggles the doorknob, the lock rattling in its place.

“Yeah?” His voice is weak, barely above a whisper.

“Baby, are you okay?” There's a soft noise, he can't tell if it's a whimper or not,  but he'd rather not take any chances. He takes a breath, backs up a few paces. He rolls his shoulders back, throwing his weight into the wood. He hears it splinter, the door banging against the inside wall. Brendon looks up tiredly from his bath, warily lifting one end of the washcloth covering his eyes.

“What's wrong-”

“I heard a noise, I wanted to see if you were okay.”

Brendon points lazily towards _Alice in Wonderland._ “Dropped my book,” he says, lips moving slowly.  Dallon kneels by the tub, stroking back the wet bangs stuck to his forehead.

“Are you sure you're okay?”

Brendon nods.

“Trying to get warm.”

“Do you do this every day?” He asks, picking up the book and closing it around a bookmark. Brendon nods again.

“When you're not here,” he continues, lifting the cloth again.

“I am here,” he says, his eyebrows knitting together.

“I know, I just-”

“Come on, I'll get you some pajamas. We can plug in the space heater and-”

“No,” Brendon shakes his head.

“What? Why? It'll be cozy-”

“I want you.”

The words are simple, but Dallon is still taken aback. Brendon’s mouth twists into a half smile.

______________

Brendon shivers, his teeth chattering violently. He pulls his heavy winter coat more tightly around himself, trying to block out the bitter Utah winter. He knew better than to be standing in the cold by himself. For God’s sake he just wants a coffee without anyone breathing down his neck. It took everything Brendon had to convince Dallon to stay in California. It was just his sister’s wedding, not anything important for him to tag along. Brendon loves him more than anything, but it can be overwhelming. By “it” he means the caretaking. Dallon brings IVs home once a month for transfusions that Brendon swears he doesn’t need. Dallon pricks his finger every morning just to make sure he’s getting enough oxygen. Dallon called his parents while he was on the flight and made sure they knew about his medical needs. His mother was practically in tears when he showed up to their home, rubbing his cheeks and asking if he was alright. It was _incessant._ He even went to a second doctor, just to see if Dallon was right. Of course, the doctor prescribed him transfusions and regular blood tests. This one even went a step further and told him to wear oxygen on the plane ride home. She’d given him a tank and a mask. He had the overwhelming urge to run it over in the parking lot.

It disappointed him. He never needed this much help. He feels like a burden, which is silly. Dallon being a nurse kind of saved his life.Brendon knows he can’t help how his blood works, but he still hates having to do so much work just to _breathe._ Walking down the crosswalk to the coffee shop left him winded. He couldn’t find it in him to order anything once he got there, so he turned and walked back home.

Brendon bites the end of his pen, his foot swinging from the boxspring to the dark green tank. He scribbles something insignificant down, unrelated to the book he should be editing. He stares dejectedly at the stack of papers the company had sent him. He had four children’s novels to look over, another two of teenage romance (which he _hated_ ) and a nine hundred page fantasy novel he hadn’t even _touched._ He had to pack up the edited copies and mail them back to the publisher before the end of the next week.

There was a reason he chose to be an editor. He couldn’t physically handle anything else...Plus, he loves writing. Though, with the hospital visits, excessive napping and debilitating migraines, he couldn’t work up the patience to work on any of them. Suddenly, the blue light in the  corner of his laptop blinks. A picture of Dallon pops up in the center. Brendon scrambles to answer the skype.

“Hello,” Dallon’s face comes into focus, the grain disappearing from the picture.

“Hey.”

“How was the ceremony?” He asks, the sun setting through the windows behind him.

“It was nice...cold, but nice. She was really happy and he cried. They’re in Costa Rica now… have been since last night.” Brendon smiles, his glasses catching on the light of the computer screen.

“And how do you feel?”

“I really like him He seems to be  a genuinely nice guy-”

“You know what I mean,” Dallon arches an eyebrow and his resolve crumbles. He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

“I’m exhausted. My body hurts,” he regrets the words as soon as they fly out of his mouth. Dallon’s face falls.

“Like...sore hurting or achy hurting?”

“Somehow, both. They ache when I sit wrong, they burn when I walk for too long. I’m convinced my body hates me.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know Dal, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor about it there. Get a second opinion.”

“And what if that one is worse than the original?”

“Follow those instructions.” Dallon sighs, tugging his fingers through his hair. “Bren, I wish I could be there with you. I know what to do...but I can’t help from here.”

______________

Dallon uncrosses his legs when he sees Brendon bobbing around the top of the escalator. His flight was delayed again, so he landed three hours later than he should have. He doesn’t see what’s tucked under Brendon’s nose, but his eyes catch on the tank rolling about behind him. Brendon waves, smiling happily. He drops the suitcase and throws his arms around his neck.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he tucks his head between his neck and shoulder. Dallon wraps his arms around Brendon’s waist.

“I missed you too.”

Brendon pulls away and kisses him breathlessly and Dallon has to tip his head a little further than usual to accommodate the new addition. Brendon crumples against his chest, holding onto his waist as they maneuver their way to the car.

“What happened to you?”

“The doctor I saw told me I needed this for the flight,” he says almost ashamedly. “Something about the air pressure and the problems with using the emergency ones.” He doesn’t tell him about the looks people gave him or the comments. A child in front of him asked his mother if Brendon were dying. A couple kept giving him odd looks and the flight attendant asked if he needed help with his straw.

“So you’re okay though?” Dallon asks, opening the car door for him.

“Sure, of course. Never been better.” He sinks into the leather seat and twists the knob to turn off the oxygen. He pulls the mask off as Dallon loads his suitcase into the trunk. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels the loss. His head dully throbs, his throat going dry. It scared him to think about how bad he had gotten without going to the clinic for a transfusion. Dallon reached over to hold his hand, his fingers twitching.

“Baby your hands are cold again, did you go to the doctor for a treatment?” Brendon doesn’t look away from the window. Dallon sighs and he knows that he should have. “Obviously you went at least once. What did they say?”

“Nothing you don’t already know.”

“Can you breathe alright?” Brendon nods.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Really.” He forces himself to make eye contact, eyes wide with a confidence he couldn’t bring himself to believe.

_________________________

If Brendon holds his breath, he can hear every clock in the house clicking at once. The hands move in sync and it’s the kind of comforting that gets taken for granted. His hands were covered in small cuts from the glass. He didn’t even think about it, his hand just tensed and he wasn’t conscious of it until the stem hit the floor. The doctor from Utah had contacted the one at Dallon’s clinic. They both decided that the extra oxygen was a good thing. They said that since his blood didn’t carry enough oxygen from normal breathing that he should be taking in pure forms of it “to make up the deficit,” the doctor had said. He didn’t bother listening to the rest of the conversation, so he hung up. He decided that cleaning up the glass was more important and had left the shards half-sunk into his skin. He pulled out the bigger ones that he could see, washed his hands with peroxide and used tweezers for the rest of them. His sink basin was stained a light pink color. Brendon started to feel dizzy, but he found that absurd. It was just a little blood, what harm could that have done? He curls up in bed and wraps a comforter around his frame. Dallon would never know what happened.

Brendon wakes with a start, his lungs rattling weakly. He instinctively reaches for the mask, shame flowering in his stomach. He feels the tears well up in his eyes, his chest tightening. He gasps, the tears burning in his throat. He rips the mask from his face and kicks the tank over on its side. He throws his legs over the side of the bed, letting his head fall to his hands. Sobs wrack his body in between heaves. Brendon wants to scream, he wants to cry and break things and to just get _fucking better._

But he knows he won’t. Not yet anyway.

He changes into a sweatshirt and hurries down the stairs. His muscles are already protesting fiercely, but he doesn’t stop. He breaks into a run, leaving the door unlocked behind him. He climbs over the black metal fence Dallon put up around the pool and launches himself over, wiping the drying tears from his cheeks. He drops to the grass with a thud, the little air in his lungs leaving him all at once. He ignores it, continuing to jog through the woods. He finds a tree, maybe halfway to the trail and hoists himself up on the lowest branches. He climbs until he loses feeling in his fingertips, the dizziness making him drowsy. He throws a leg over a strong limb and leans back against the trunk. He closes his eyes and against his better judgement, falls asleep.

Brendon feels his balance slipping, waking with a start as he had begun to fall. The sun was creeping over the tops of the trees, the leaves catching on the golden light. His stomach drops, he hadn’t meant to stay there _all_ night. He scrambles down, his muscles aching painfully. He can’t breathe as he jogs but presses onward to the house. He climbs the fence - it had gotten cold overnight, the metal grates breaking the skin on his raw hands. He falls over the top, knocking the wind from him. He can't stand right away, but when he can he hobbles to the yellow-lit windows. He stumbles up the brick steps to the front door and runs the doorbell. Muffled voices halt, the door swinging open. Dallon pulls him inside, hugging him tightly to his chest.

“Where the hell were you? Are you okay?” He holds up Brendon’s bloodied fingers. “Let me clean that up,” he holds onto his waist but turns his head to the two policemen in their living room. “It's okay officers, I'm so sorry to have wasted your time.”

The one of them nods to Brendon.

“Where were you, son?” He asks.

“I...I'd gone to the tree just behind our fence and I was watching the birds but I fell asleep-”

“It's alright kid, as long as you're home,” the other one elbows the first. “We'll get going.”

The two exit the house, Dallon shutting the door behind him. A heavy silence overtakes the room. Dallon pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

“I looked all over for you. I went up to East Rutherford. I drove all around this neighborhood. I even asked _Ryan_ if he'd seen you because I was nervous that you might have gone back to him because I was too protective or something,” Brendon opens his mouth to protest but closes it at the wave of Dallon’s hand. “Don't. Don't even try that with me right now, you know...you _know_ about your health. It's _winter_ . In _Maryland._ You could've died and I never would've known what happened to you. You're bleeding. Your lips are purple and you're whiter than a sheet. You're ice cold. I called the police because I thought you were missing. I walked _twelve_ miles in weather I could barely tolerate because you are my world. Now I'm going upstairs and you're going to wait on the couch so I can clean you up.” Brendon opens his mouth again, but Dallon cuts him off. “I was worried sick that you'd never come back to me.”

“Don’t you get tired of me? I’m supposed to be your boyfriend not an extra case you have waiting on you at home.” Dallon looks dumbfounded. His jaw hangs open and his eyes are wide with disbelief.

“Do you...honestly? For a second you believe that?”

Brendon swallows.

Dalon takes his face between his hands and kisses him. It’s all desperate-- open mouths and fingers twisting in hair. Dallon’s hands press into his body to pull him closer, as if he wants to force him to understand exactly how much he needs him.

“Never. I will never get tired of you.”

For once, Brendon is happy being breathless.


End file.
